


To Carry Your Torch

by milkquart



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst, Gen, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers Spoilers, ambiguous WoL, it's a halloween fic i swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 16:02:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21256004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkquart/pseuds/milkquart
Summary: [Shadowbringers Spoilers]The Crystal Exarch has learned many things from his dear old friend. Perhaps one of the most important lessons he learned was the ability to accept the future's uncertainty and live in the present, where he is most needed.





	To Carry Your Torch

It pained him, always being under the shadow of the tower. While G’raha was no stranger to perilous expeditions, he didn’t expect the Crystal Tower to cause him so much grief. But why did he feel this way? Was it because he felt some responsibility for the tower’s bloody history? Was it because he felt powerless as the Cloud of Darkness ripped his friends away from him? Or maybe, was it because he had no idea how to fix this plight caused by none other than this selfsame tower? G’raha knew he was blameless in all the disasters that had befallen NOAH thus far, yet something deep within him, the same feeling that made him feel like the Crystal Tower had been the missing piece of him that he never knew was missing, seemed to tell him that he could have prevented all of this.

And then there was also the sheer _ confusion _ he felt _ , _ the broken, persistent memories that plagued him whenever he was asleep or awake. They were inescapable, always clawing at him and dragging him back to the tower. Sometimes, when he was sure no one was around, G’raha would yell at them, ask them what they wanted from him. Was it bad enough that their presence in his eye drove him to isolation? How much suffering did he have to endure until these dreams, these voices, these misshapen memories, have had their fill of his sorrow, so that they can stop playing these bloody games and tell him what he truly was meant to be? _ Enough, _G’raha wanted to scream, enough of these parables, these half-truths, these--

G’raha suddenly felt a cold hand grab his shoulder. “And what’s a little kit like you doing all alone tonight?” a voice whispered eerily.

“Get away from me!” G’raha yelped, immediately swatting away the hand. He was ready to retaliate at this poor sap who dared to sneak up on him, but his defensive stance began to give way to irritation when he realized who the source of the voice was.

“I sure got you good this time!” the Warrior laughed uproariously. “I didn’t think a scholar like you would be so afraid of ghosts, of all things!” Now that they mentioned it, G’raha noticed how the Warrior was clad in a white cloth with only a frowning face drawn on it, a rather childish attempt to scare him.

“And I wouldn’t expect _ you _ to be in to dressing up in children’s costumes,” G’raha huffed.

“Too caught up in your books now, are we?” the Warrior chuckled as they began to peel off their costume. “Have you forgotten what today is, G’raha?”

“The day you finally lost your sanity?” G’raha quipped.

The Warrior stifled a chuckle. “It’s All Saints’ Wake!” they pointed out. “Everyone’s been dressing up and giving out treats to anyone in a costume. You know, trick or treat and all of that. I would imagine that _ you, _of all people, would love to have an excuse to pull your pranks on unsuspecting passerby.”

G’raha bit his lip. 'Tis true that Rammbroes spoke to him of festivities at Revenant’s Toll earlier that day, but he simply didn’t feel like he wanted to come. Sure, he understood that overexerting themselves would not bring their friends back anytime sooner, but G’raha couldn’t afford himself that luxury; how could he, when it seemed like whenever he took his mind off of the Crystal Tower his eye would immediately ache with pain? As if these forsaken memories were punishing him for trying to take his mind off of them? “...That does sound like a rather fine idea,” G’raha hummed.

“You’re not okay, are you, Raha?” the Warrior asked, dropping their joyful mood from earlier. “I know you enjoy your fair share of ancient Allagan technology, but it’s not like you to miss out on a chance to be with your friends.”

G’raha laughed sheepishly. “I really do apologize, my friend, but--”

“Also I would like to point out that I would _ not _have been able to sneak up on you like that on any other day,” the Warrior pointed out to him. “Why, the last time I did that you almost stuck an arrow into my chest!”

“I’ve just been feeling under--”

“--Under the weather? Then have you told the others about what’s troubling you?”

“The thought has crossed my mind,” G’raha admitted. Of course it has. He’s spent so many months with Rammbroes, Cid, Biggs, Wedge, his _ friends _ \-- he was sure that he would be able to confide anything in them. But what good would that do? G’raha didn’t want any of them to be worried on his behalf. What right did he have to trouble his friends, who are likely to be preoccupied with something else more pressing? These muddled memories and voices were his burden to bear and his alone. As it always had been. As it will always be. “...I doubt they would understand, though,” he added in a soft voice.

“Then would you tell _ me _what’s bothering you?” the Warrior asked.

G’raha flinched. “I-I’ve thought about that, too!” he immediately spat out. “But I’m well aware of what you’ve been doing around Eorzea, I can’t possibly burden you with my ramblings.”

“But what would I be if I don’t listen to what’s troubling my friend?” the Warrior countered. “I may be a hero, but I don’t think I’d be a very good person if I can’t even lend an ear to my friends.”

G’raha wanted to protest, but the way the Warrior strode confidently beside him took him aback. Even when G’raha was busy blathering away about his latest discovery, or even when he barely paid attention to them as he found himself poring over another book for the entire day, they were always there with him. The Warrior always stood beside him patiently no matter what; _ because we’re friends, right? _they had told him once. “I mean, you were always open about whenever you needed help with your bow,” the Warrior pointed, breaking G’raha away from his thoughts. “What’s the difference between back then and now?”

G’raha turned his gaze back to the Crystal Tower, its crystalline spires ever stretching out in an attempt to pierce the sky. It certainly did look magnificent from where they were standing, but right now, all it seemed to do was mock G’raha for his insecurities. “...I’m not sure what I am,” he said in a shaky breath.

The Warrior raised their eyebrows worriedly. “Is this about your eye?” they asked.

G’raha instinctively raised a hand to his crimson eye. It wasn’t even hurting him now, but he had gotten so used to its sudden bursts of pain that he found himself trying to anticipate when his eye would next hurt again, and with it, what new cryptic memory he would have to puzzle all by himself. “When we first set out on this expedition, I was excited,” he began. “Why wouldn’t I be? The idea of discovering new Allagan secrets is absolutely thrilling to me. It still is.”

“And yet what has my curiosity brought me?” G’raha sighed. “I may have met you and everyone else, but at what cost? Everyday I feel myself being pulled away from my very own existence. The deeper we explore the Crystal Tower, the more I feel as if everything I’ve lived for till now has been...wrong. I remember these memories that aren’t mine, I hear these voices that sound familiar yet unfamiliar...I suppose you’ve seen it first hand, haven’t you?”

“You would wake up sometimes in the middle of the night and claim that you’re just getting fresh air,” the Warrior answered in reply. “But I could still hear you, mumbling angry things to yourself.”

G’raha sucked his breath in. “And now, we’ve lost Unei, Doga, and Nero,” he whispered in defeat. “I realize that we all joined this expedition out of our own volition, but...is this all worth it? I truly enjoy my time with everyone else in NOAH, but I also, I suppose, feel responsible for everything bad that has happened thus far.” He once again bitterly gazed at the tower. “I don’t know why I feel so attached to this tower, or why this tower feels like it’s trying to claim me, but…”

The Warrior immediately leaned against G’raha’s shoulder, distracting him from finishing his thoughts. “Then does that mean you don’t deserve to be happy?” they asked.

G’raha was taken aback by the question. “What are you trying--”

“You’re telling me you feel responsibility for everything that has happened thus far,” the Warrior said. “If you truly believe that you are at the center of everything that went wrong in our expedition, then does that mean it’s okay to keep your friends in the dark? That it’s okay for you to bear all the pain by yourself because you think this tower is your responsibility?” 

“Of course not!” G’raha cried out.

“You act like you’re the only one beating themselves up over what happened in Syrcus,” the Warrior pointed out, “but I’ve seen how Rammbroes, Cid, and the others are working themselves to the bone trying to save our friends. There’s so many risks, so much we don’t know, in this rescue operation of ours that it feels almost impossible. And yet here they are, down at Seventh Heaven, taking in the night’s festivities.”

There was a pause, as if both of them were trying to find the right words to say. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that you’re being rather too introspective, Raha,” the Warrior reassured G’raha. “No one blames you for anything. We may all have felt powerless that day, but we’re not going around pointing fingers at who could have changed what.” They looked up at G’raha and gave him a small grin. “If anything, we’re more worried about how you’re faring considering how you’ve been so distant from us ever since that day.”

G’raha looked down on the ground in contemplation. Had he really changed that much? “I’m sure there are a lot of questions floating in your mind, and it pains me that I don’t have the answers to them,” the Warrior lamented. “But to us, you’re still G’raha Tia, an esteemed member of the Scholars of Baldesion, a book nut, a friend, and our lovable little prankster.”

“Do all of you really enjoy my little tricks that much?_ ” _G’raha teased.

The Warrior laughed. “My point is that we should be living here, in the present, and not worry about what the future has to hold for us. I’m sure that there may be more trials waiting for us in the future, but they can wait. Right now, there’s people here who need _ you. _”

G’raha fidgeted when he felt the Warrior forcefully wrap their arm around his, as if they were trying to pull him away from his thoughts about Crystal Tower and its dark secrets. “D-Do you really…?” he stuttered, trying to find some way to turn down the Warrior. Why was he feeling so hesitant about being with his friend? It was just like the Warrior had said, he really was pushing away his friends from him. Perhaps everyone else was right, G’raha thought to himself. He enjoyed this expedition, learning about long forgotten Allagan technology, simply being with his friends…

“Oh, are you really trying to turn down an invitation to be with your friends?” the Warrior asked with a smile. “It doesn’t hurt to be happy every once in a while, you know. We may not be able to find the answers to all your questions now, but at least let us help you be happy after everything that happened.”

G’raha flicked his tail apprehensively. Of course he wanted to go with his friends, every fiber of his body was practically yearning for it. But could he count on these memories to silence themselves for just a few moments? Here was his dearest friend, practically clinging to him and just waiting to hear him say ‘yes, I _ will _go with you’. He had to trust them, G’raha thought. Even if these broken memories and voices were right, even if he really is bound to the Crystal Tower after all, he knew his friends would always be there beside him. That was one fact G’raha knew was indisputable.

“...You said I could play tricks?” G’raha asked.

“What, have you never celebrated All Saints’ Wake?” the Warrior questioned back.

“You could say that,” G’raha mused. “I don’t think I ever had the chance to walk around in a costume, though. Or was I ever rewarded for my pranks.”

The Warrior immediately shoved their makeshift ghost costume onto G’raha. “Well, I suppose we’re fixing that tonight.” they beamed.

“Wait, is it really okay for me to do this? Isn’t it usually children who wear costumes around this time?”

“Oh, you should have seen everyone, young and old, dressed up back in Gridania!”

“And we’re sure that you’re not doing this to exact some form of revenge against me?”

“You pull too many pranks for me to keep a running list of how to get back at you,” the Warrior scoffed. G’raha watched as they pulled out a wrapped piece of what seemed to be candy, just to prove how this absolutely wasn’t an elaborate joke. “Look, I even got some candy just for spooking some of the guards!”

A sly grin spread across G’raha’s face as he clutched the costume with his hands. “_ Only _one piece of candy?” he smirked.

“What, do you think you can do better?” the Warrior said slyly.

“I’m not suggesting anything. But it does seem like a challenge, does it not? Though I do believe that a lovable little prankster like me will excel at scaring people tonight, which means I can gain more than just one measly piece of candy.”

“Talk is cheap, G’raha Tia. Why don’t you put that costume on and see how you fare, hm?”

* * *

The aftermath of every sin eater attack was the same; the sin eaters flee with their newly birthed kin, tattered corpses as far as the eye can see, and the same ear piercing cries as the people left to live attempt to cope with the despair and sorrow the sin eaters have left in their wake. It terrified the Exarch, seeing how these people have accepted that _ this _is simply normal Vrandtric life to them. Would he be like them? the Exarch thought as he walked across families and loved ones trying to console themselves over the dead. Would he, too, get so used to such bloody scenery that he would also learn how to close his heart to steel himself from the heartbreak?

And, as expected from such despicable attacks, there were children left behind by their families. To the Exarch, that was the worst part of these attacks, knowing that such young souls have been subjected to witnessing the horrifying deaths of their siblings, or the grotesque transformation of their parents into fellow sin eaters. The Exarch was glad that his cowl obscured his face, or else everyone would have seen through his eyes how badly his heart broke for the children before him.

“Something the matter, Exarch?” a worried Mystel soldier asked, breaking the Exarch away from his thoughts.

“There has to be something else we can do for them,” the Exarch mumbled. He couldn’t take his eyes off at how broken, how traumatized these children were. As the other soldiers went around to each child tending to their wounds or trying to glean information from them, the Exarch watched as these children simply stared on, motionless, empty.

“It’s always been like this,” the Mystel sighed, turning her attention to the children. “Blasted sin eaters swoop in and tear families apart, only leaving the little ones behind. It’s a heartbreaking sight, but the best thing we can do is shelter them till we find new homes for them.”

The Exarch was no stranger to these attacks. In the few months’ time he had spent with the refugees, in which he had built the Crystarium together with them, he had seen his fair share of sin eaters. And yet, the Exarch thought, there was no possible way he could close his heart from such desolation. Peaceful times were but a dream to him, but the Exarch knew well enough that a life spent in constant fear and despondency was a life no one should have to live.

Ignoring the Mystel’s cries for him, the Exarch found himself running to join the soldiers in tending to the newly orphaned children. “Exarch, don’t strain yourself!” one of the soldiers called out to him.

“No, no, it’s alright,” the Exarch answered in reply. Deep within him, he could feel something about to burst; was it frustration? Many months’ worth of pent-up frustration, knowing that no matter how hard he tried, these attacks always ended the same way every time? Or was it the kind of frustration that he felt for hundreds of years, knowing that even though he was supposed to guide Eorzea to peace, he instead remained powerless to hundreds of years’ worth of tragedies? Could he really be still so useless now, that he can’t even keep families together?

The Exarch knelt before a Viis girl, her eyes just as empty like the other children. What can you do? the Exarch asked himself. Did you really believe you can save _ everyone? _ He wondered if he seemed like a fool to everyone right now; he has lived and suffered with these same people for months now, and yet his heart still broke for the souls he could not save. His eyes still wept for the children who could no longer cry in joy nor sadness, just like the girl before him. What could he, still as powerless as ever, could say to this child? What could he say to _ them, _the friends he had left in the future, who they bet all their hopes on?

Realizing that talking him out of helping them was futile, several soldiers came to the Exarch bringing over a bowl of warm water and some towels, as well as some bandages for her wounds. The Exarch found himself brushing his fingers along the girl’s bloodstains as he dipped the towel in the warm water, the girl unresponsive to his touch. He alone can’t save them, the Exarch knew full well. One day, he won’t even _ be _there for them. He was not so ignorant as to think that just because he had the Crystal Tower and all of its Allagan bounties with him that he could somehow change history all by himself. Yet despite all that he had done for them, the same tragic events kept on playing like a broken record.

The Exarch’s hand trembled as he began to clean the blood off of the girl’s face. He had no words to say to her nor to the worried soldiers that looked on at them.

What could a failure like him even say to a city that he can’t keep safe?

* * *

During times in which he felt the most unsure of himself, the Exarch would retire to his quarters alone with Count Edmont’s memoirs, hoping to find traces of his friend’s warmth within its pages.

Even though the tower itself was quite comfortable, no thanks to the contributions of the various Allagan nobles that have lived in it before the Exarch did, he never did find time to enjoy its amenities to their fullest extent. Why should he? After all, he believed that such remarkable technology would best be used by the common folk. Plus, ever since the Exarch found himself more of a crystal than a man, he found no need for such indulgences. And so he devoted himself more to nurturing and healing these broken people, only retiring to his quarters when his despair was at its thickest and most unbearable.

The Exarch’s fingers brushed over every word that he had already read thousands and thousands of times beforehand; the pain the Warrior of Light endured when they first came to Ishgard an outcast, how they eventually felled the mighty wyrm Nidhogg after a long, arduous battle, the millions of lives they touched as they moved forward. To anyone else, these pages spoke of a hero, a legend, who sacrificed all of their being for Eorzea. But to the Exarch, these tales were more than that -- they were his inspiration, the sole reason why he could still find light in the ever expanding darkness. Even though the Exarch knew that he would never again enjoy the Warrior’s company, it felt like every word written in the book was a message from his very friend, reminding him that he was not alone in Norvrandt.

It made the Exarch laugh, knowing how once he was the one comforting the Warrior whenever they returned to Saint Coinach’s Find, battered and weary from their latest adventure. Even though they said otherwise, the Exarch knew well enough when their friend was lying. And now, he was the one who needed comfort, but the one he sought from it the most was gone. Dead. All he had left of them was this book, its words all he had left for comfort.

“Help me, my friend,” the Exarch found himself whispering as he pressed his face close to the book, “for I am doubting my existence again.”

The Exarch once again felt the extreme helplessness he felt at the hands of the sin eaters, the emptiness and despair in the children’s eyes as their futures were dashed away in the blink of an eye. _ Have you ever felt this hopeless too? _ He wondered as he continued to flip through the pages. When he had first set foot on Norvrandt, the Exarch told himself that even though he may have missed his mark by hundreds of years, there was no reason why he should keep himself locked away within the tower again, ignorant to the plight of the outside world just like before. No, he told himself, he carried his friend’s light with him; in this world devoid of darkness, he had no choice but to walk in his friend’s footsteps and teach them how to hope again, even if the road would lead to his death.

The Exarch knew fully well that such a task would be mentally and physically taxing. Without his friend’s memories, he doubted that he could have lasted this long by himself.

And so, as these same dark thoughts began to claw at the Exarch’s being again, he surrendered himself to the memoir’s pages. Yet it would not be the daring battles, the selfless sacrifices, or the fearsome enemies that he would read about. No, during times in which the Exarch found himself in a most fragile state of mind, he turned to the records detailing of how his friend would aid the lowborn citizens of Ishgard in making their lives a little easier. In the grand scheme of history, the Warrior taking their time to bring extra food and clothing, or them teaching games to the children, were not exactly rather noteworthy achievements. But to the Exarch, these were the tales that reminded him the most of his friend’s warmth.

As the Exarch continued to pore over the stories written within the book, he couldn’t help but laugh to himself as he came across a record that recounted how, in the spirit of All Saints’ Wake, the Warrior stormed the Brume clad in nothing but white sheets, making the children run and scream in glee as they chased them down. Of course they would do that, the Exarch mused as he remembered once roaming Revenant’s Toll as ghosts alongside them. He always admired how, even in the darkest of times, his friend merely focused on what was directly ahead of them. Even though they alone could not lift these children, these poor and downtrodden people, from their plight, the Warrior still found it in themselves to bring them happiness in the best possible way that they could.

“Because of course you would,” the Exarch said out loud, finishing his thoughts.

Yes, these pages could never truly be a substitute for his friend’s warmth and kindness, the Exarch knew as he felt a smile once again return to his lips. But these tales were enough to tell him that, yes, he will stumble. Over and over. But there was nothing he could do about that -- all he could do was focus on the people who need them now, on the things they can do now, fully believing that tomorrow will hold a better future.

“...All of this pain has made me forget all the lessons you imparted on me,” the Exarch laughed as he closed the book. “I’m sure if you could see me now, you would be teasing me about how easily I forget the most important things, my friend.”

* * *

“Exarch, what is all of this?” one of the soldiers asked.

Day by day, it seemed that the Crystarium was growing more and more in size. The Exarch chalked it up to the growing waves of refugees who came for succor, as well as the amounts of orphans that they had simply made their own. While the Exarch was glad that some of them were successful in finding distant relatives who welcomed them back with open arms, there was still the matter of those who had no place to call home anymore. Until the day would come in which they can lend their own strengths to the Crystarium, these children had nothing to do but remain in the orphanages.

“I apologize, is today a bad time?” the Exarch asked as he clung to his basket.

“N-No, not at all!” another piped up. “We’re just--well--”

“There’s no need to worry about me,” the Exarch reassured them. “Rather, I’m here to see how the children are faring after what happened.” His gaze moved towards the children running around the Exedra. While he was glad that some seemed to have still found it in themselves to smile and laugh, his heart still ached for those who hid under the shadows of the trees, downcast and accompanied by other caretakers or their friends who were trying to nudge them into playing with the others.

“It’s been a tough few days, but they’re managin’ to live,” a Ronso was the first to speak up. “Some found friends and are doin’ fine, while some...well...you see it for yourself. Any reason as to why you’re here then?”

The Exarch grinned. “Would it be alright if I spoke to them? Today is a rather special day in my homeland, and I would like to give them something in celebration.”

The caretakers all shrugged and smiled at each other. They immediately began calling out to the children. “Look who’s here to visit us!” they cried out.

The children all began gathering curiously around the Exarch, some hiding behind their caretakers, while others, those with the same empty eyes that haunted the Exarch, were being pushed forward in an attempt to make them feel included. Though he made it a point to circle the Crystarium as often as he could, the Exarch could tell that some of these children had never seen him walk around these parts before. He felt almost embarrassed, seeing such innocent eyes stare back at him like he was some sort of hero.

“I suppose it’s rather odd for me to appear all of a sudden like this,” the Exarch said sheepishly. “But while I was reminiscing about my homeland, I remembered that today is All Saints’ Wake, and I thought it would be best to share some of the festivities with all of you.”

“What’s All Saints’ Wake?” a young Hume girl asked.

The Exarch knelt down to the children’s levels. “I’m glad you asked. Back in my place, we also had evil monsters everywhere, yet through the brave efforts of my land’s guardians they were kept in check,” he began, “but for one night, the monsters were free to roam the land without anyone to stop them. Everyone was afraid -- we all hid ourselves in our homes, wondering who? Who could stop them?”

“The Warrior of Darkness can!” a child belted out.

“I guess you could say that,” the Exarch laughed in agreement. “When we feared for our lives the most, the bravest adventurers came to our rescue. But, you may be thinking, how can they do that? The monsters are so powerful, and these adventurers are just normal people like you and I.” He paused as the children, even the caretakers, chattered among themselves in contemplation. “The adventurers knew that they could not easily beat the monsters by force, so they had to trick them. They donned disguises that made them look like they were fellow monsters, and the moment the fiends lowered their guard, the adventurers took off their disguises and commenced their attack.”

Using his hands the Exarch pretended he was slashing away at the invisible monsters with a sword, making the children cheer in delight. “They drove off the monsters, and frightened them so hard that they would not dare ever come to our land again. Ever since then, that fateful night has since been known as All Saints’ Wake, a night in which children like you roam the streets in their own disguises in search of tricks and treats.”

“But...there’s no night here anymore,” someone quipped sadly.

The Exarch smiled in acknowledgement as he began to reach within his basket. “That you are right,” he said. “But that does not mean that I can’t share some of All Saints’ Wake’s spirit with you.” He motioned the same girl forward, placing in her hands a small bag of treats -- cookies, biscuits, and even some pieces of candy. “We may not have a night for you to fully enjoy the holiday, but I would like for you to experience at least some part of it.”

The children’s excitement reached a fever pitch, and they immediately surged forward the Exarch with hands outstretched and their voices crying in delight. While the caretakers went about in a panic trying to make the children form a line, the Exarch laughed as he continued to distribute the bags to the curious little hands. For a moment, all their eyes were colored by the same feeling of joy -- even those who had a vacant gaze just moments before were swept up in the same happiness as the others.

When the Exarch was sure that every child had received their own bag of treats, when the children all cheerily said their thanks and returned to their friends with newfound glee, it was there in the dispersing crowd that the Exarch noticed a distant girl staring back at him, hidden among the trees. He recognized the girl’s vacant stare anywhere, for it was the same Viis he had tended to merely a few days ago.

“And why are you here all alone?” the Exarch asked as he walked up to the girl.

Even though she still wore the same vacant stare, it made the Exarch glad to see her at least react to his presence. “...Is it true?” the Viis asked, ignoring the Exarch’s question. “Was your story really true?”

“Of course,” the Exarch answered cheerily.

“Are you friends with the adventurers?” she asked again. “Do you think that maybe...they can come here too? Maybe they can beat the sin eaters for good.”

“...You can say I’m friends with one of them,” the Exarch smiled. “Though I’m not sure if they can help us just yet.”

“Why not?”

“Well, my friend is a rather busy person,” the Exarch said as he handed the last of his goodie bags to the girl. “But don’t worry, they know about what’s happening here. They told me that once they’ve finished with their adventure, they’ll come right away.”

The girl’s eyes were alit with cautious hope. “...You promise they’ll come for us?” she asked again.

“Of course they will. I know my friend well -- as long as there’s people in need of them, they’ll be there, no matter what.”

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween!
> 
> I don't really post a lot of fics but I've been screaming about shb for like what, 3 months?? I really wanted to write something for it, and Halloween was right around the corner and then I made it sad orz thanks for reading, and I hope you guys enjoyed it!!


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